The Mask You Wear
by Vic Viper
Summary: In an age of peace after war, which hurts worse: half-truths or lies? When the conflict ends, picking up the pieces can be the most difficult fight of all. -- AshexBasch ..among others. PostGame
1. A Coronation

It was difficult, but not impossible, to drown out the endless lengths of applause and cheers that echoed in the streets of Rabanastre that day..

Throughout every hall and in every corner of the city a voice cried out in joy at the glory which had returned to a city scarred and stained the blood of countless innocents and guilty alike. Long had the people suffered and long had they waited for this moment, a reason to remind the world that the desert flower had survived the weathering storms and rose up to bloom once again defiant. It was a day much like one seemingly ages ago where white rose petals rained down from the windows and pillars to the point of eerieness. A gold-trimmed chariot slowly wove a path up the way of heroes flanked by ranks six-deep on either side, soldiers filing side by side carrying the yet living colors of the country. To the cheers of the endless spectators chocobos bent their heads high like proud stallions and pronounced their place as finest of the breed as if aware of their importance. The priceless treasure they presented to Rabanastre was a sight to behold indeed; to the thousands that had waited so long to catch a glimpse of their long-lost princess, all would tell their stories and fashion a phrase that to a degree matched every other:

_I was there on that day,_ the stories sang, _that an angel descended upon the throne of Dalmasca._

Gossamer and silk hugged her small but strong frame, perfectly radiant in the sun basking down on them all through the windows of the same cathedral which had bourne witness to a joining of marriage. In a way the irony was not lost on the mere hundred souls allowed to view the coronation, for nearly each of them had been there when a Nabradian prince was joined with their own fair princess. This time however, she knelt alone save for the four handmaidens who carried her trailing gown with the utmost care. Before the spot where she lowered herself a managerie of officials and prominent figures kept vigil, but to her relief it wasn't an entirely political mix of bodies. Ashe allowed herself a moment of fickle pleasure and snuck a look up through heavy lashes and found herself smiling softly at the presence of a few nervous faces besides her own.

Vaan looked positively embarrased in his silken shirt and trousers, meeting Ashe's smile with an uneasy one of his own. She could only imagine what he must have gone through to have his unruly pale hair tugged and forced into a handsome shape, and the culprit was no doubt the simple beauty latched to his arm. Penelo herself had become a fine dancer, allowed the wearing of her finest performance garb for the coronation. She stuck her tongue out quickly at her prisoner before beaming her infectious smile back at the princess. To her immediate left would be found the Rozzarrian entourage; Al-Cid with his arms perched precariously around his four female escorts. It was hard to loathe the flirtacious man even as he sent a careful wink down to the kneeling royal. Fighting a strange heat in her cheeks, the beginnings of a prayer were muddled out in her mind as she searched the rest of the line of friends. She found her eyes watering at the sight of not a friend, but the sole member of her family left to represent her blood. In her uncle she could think of no better a man to suit the role, Halim's face bursting with pride as he leaned into his staff and lifted his chin. Ashe repressed a chuckle at his clearly failed attempt to bring his own fashion to order, for after weeks of hounding his niece for advice on what to wear to the ceremony he had chosen the simple route and done well with fine leathers bearing the family crest. Finally, there was of course the matter of representing the recently allied Archadia.. And for that honor, there could be no other choices.

Though they looked slightly out of place in a cathedral full of light colored clothing their presence was met with surprisingly little discord due to the roles they had played during the war. There was Zargabaath - turned from Judge Magister to hero - in the seconds it had taken him to decide to ram the _Alexander _into a falling fortress to save the countless lives below the final battle. Though he often denied the honor bestowed upon him by the citizens there could be no better proof of his suicidal attempt than the restored airship he had brought the others in. After him came Larsa, still bearing his charm as he nodded upon meeting her gaze with his. Being the salvation of the empire had tested him in all sorts of ways and he glowed with the same strength others had described in her. Later they would share words no doubt but his expression showed nothing but knowledge that this had been a long time coming, the beginning of the era of peace even someone his age could understand the need for. And then there, to Larsa's side, came a motion that sent her mind faltering.. A simple armored hand lowering onto the youth's shoulder and the nod of acknowledgment that resulted.

Her eyes found the same sight his did but with a completely different reaction when they traced the outline - not of the ornate helm that covered it - but the face beneath. She remembered that an ever-present scar lined the shape of his brow, no doubt those same hard eyes below shining with mixed emotions of his own. She imagined that he looked so much like his deceased twin now that only those who knew the truth behind Judge Magister Gabranth would ever know the difference..but there could be no comparison, she thought silently. The iron facade hid everything and nothing and the princess found herself wishing she too could wear a mask today, snatching at any other thoughts she could to hide the unspoken words that were just now beginning to threaten her facade. Thankfully that distraction came at just the right moment.

She had been kneeling in circle of petals that surrounded her at the altar, undisturbed until just now by the successor to the Kiltian proper when the old Nu Mou carefully shuffled forward. Each soul in the cathedral seemed to hold their breath at the spectacle of the moment when the frail, old creature touched the elegant crownpiece and turned to hold it above her bowed head. Delicately putting it to place, the old one bowed his own already hunched form and took five careful steps away from the kneeling woman. As she rose emotions rose with her. Some in the audience began to weep, others began to cheer.. But everyone of them began to clap when a soldier from the ranks couldn't contain himself any longer.

"Long live the Rose of Dalmasca!" The battle-worn soldier cried, the finery of his clothing doing nothing to hide the truth that he had seen the worst of the war. His eyes brimmed with tears but his heart had etched a smile across his face that everyone stared at for a brief time of surprise. Larsa stepped forward with a smile and reprised the announcement with his own affirmation.

"Archadia's people rejoice with yours," the young master added. "Long live the Queen!"

It was echoed by one, then two.. And then impossible numbers as the chant carried across the cathedral to the doors, and then beyond. Though the souls outside could not see what was happening the message was clear and deafening as it began to rise up to the heavens.

_Long live the Queen, _the roar re-announced. .._Long live the Queen!_

Asheliawatched all of this in silence, struck by the reality of what was happening. How long had she fought and prayed for this day? Her blue-greys began to move over the crowded church searching for something but unsure of what. Every face she found was seared into her memories somehow, a dizzying circle of celebration and relief for the moment of her coronation had finally come. Her people knew now more than ever she was alive. _Dalmasca _was alive..and it was never going to die. Princess reborn to Queen turned to face her first glimpse at her subjectswhile fighting back tears. She wept for her people, for her father, for the slain and for those yet alive. With this power she had finally been granted she would make sure they would never again suffer unjustly, for the price of that strength was more than could ever be repayed. With that thought she steeled herself and resigned her life to seeing that new horizon she had promised time and time again. They would have their hopes back.

A glance over her shoulder revealed her closest companions joining in the celebration more so than she could have imagined, sans a sky pirate or two who had seemingly been unable to attend. They were there in spirit however, just like all those who should have been there but had been claimed. She suddenly missed them horribly but knew they were watching from somewhere just beyond her own sight. Watching, smiling.. Perhaps just like he was, behind the line drawn between them by war and peace. Judge Magister Gabranth's eyes, though shadowed by the mask he wore, clearly bore through to her as she smiled to that silent sentinel as pained and happy as she was in that same moment. Though the deafening applause and cheering she mouthed a 'thank you' and found herself relieved when the helm lowered in a slow nod of understanding.

Here Dalmasca, and Ivalice with it, began anew. Here the old stories had been cast away and a new book started; every page blank and full of hope as the morning sun..

_Author's Note: ..as of this writing I have just beaten FFXII, and so it is with great hope that I wonder.. Should it continue? I have ideas, sure, but does this story deserve more? Want to see and read more of the underloved BaschxAshe? I leave it up to you! I haven't written in an eternity but the drive is there. And so, reviews are certainly welcome as the story carries on. Until then!_


	2. Walls

1_Author's Note: I want to apologize for the lack of updating lately; as we all know, life can be harsh when it comes to time to write and create. A few health snags plus work meant a long time in me finally moving forward, but I couldn't have done it without a few strong words of support from you dear reviewers. Keep them coming and I promise I will too. For your patience, I give to you Part 2 of The Mask You Wear.._

* * *

It was easy to forget that two months had passed since Queen Ashelia Dalmasca's coronation ceremony, but not so easy to forget the endless maze of hallways that made up the central palace of Emperor Larsa Solidor.

Even now Judge Magister Gabranth walked with a slightly urgent clip, all but ignoring the requisite salutes by the guards posted in the grand hall. One hundred and fifty paces between each he mentally recalled, recording his progress by the number of pairs he passed. It was easier to measure by such militaristic methods than by measuring his own iron-plated steps echoing off the walls day after day.. Such was the role that guardian to the young emperor provided. He would never dream of regretting the promise he had made to his previous benefactor but some days stretched far longer than others in the guise of someone else. For now all that mattered was that he was Gabranth; therein lay the hope of a fallen brother and soldier.

The Judge Magister finally rounded a corner and came to another pair of guards, these posted in heavier armor marking their higher duty of ensuring the identity of each and every soul that passed in and out of the room behind. Just as there could be no mistaking his identity from the demonesque armor he wore, the image of twin serpents coiling about a sword etched in the doorway always reminded him that this was the chamber of the last remaining member of House Solidor.

"The Emperor is expecting me," his voice rasped from behind the mask. "Let him know I've arrived just now."

"Yes, m'lord!" barked the guard on the left, lifting his hand to the brow of his helm. The sentry turned and gave a knock to the chamber door before opening it and dissapearing within. Moments later he returned and motioned for his fellow to move his spear. "Emperor Larsa welcomes your return Judge Magister. Please enter."

Gabranth slipped between the men and entered the adjoining room to the sounds of the door closing securely behind him. Only once he heard that did he lift his gauntleted fingers up and take grip of both sides of his helmet just beneath the ornate horns. With a firm push the helm slid off his head and was tucked under one arm, allowing Gabranth to smell the sweet air unabated. His eyes closed for a precious few moments while he breathed deep the taste of it, this place perhaps having grown to be his favorite in all of Archadia.

Just beyond the final door the palace opened up to an arch-laden promenade with waters redirected to create magnificent falls and waterways stretching the width of the palace. Greenery clung to the walls here, sunshine pouring down onto the meeting place unrestrained thanks to the lack of wall or ceiling to speak of. Spread about the promenade, fine sculptures and empty benches spoke of a different time when House Solidor's family gathered as any other did to enjoy the finery that their position provided. Yet without family, only one other soul sat basking in the impossibly fine weather.. Seated as he was many times at a long table at the rear of the promenade. The youthful face peeked up from a stack of official papers and beamed, pushing himself to a stand quickly and hurriedly walking over to where the Judge Magister stood.

"Lord Larsa," Gabranth managed with a weary nod and half smile. His form bowed slightly forward in respect to his master. "I heard that you summoned me and returned to the palace as soon as I could."

"Archadia welcomes its hero back with open arms," the dark haired teen replied back with an infectious smile and chuckle. He too drew a deep breath and seemed to bask in a moment of private peace with the knight. "But of course I summoned you only to know how your travels fared. I hope they found you well.. Sir Basch?"

It was always with a degree of discomfort that he heard his name used, if for no other reason than one of anonimity. Grabranth's - or rather Basch's - brow furrowed a bit as he cleared his throat, to which the young emperor sighed and waved his hand dismissively.

"Come now," he added lightly. "This place is safe. And private. I honor your brother's wishes with all the respect they are due, but there must be at least one place in the world where you can be yourself without fear of discovery or malice. You deserve that much, I think?"

Larsa smiled again and turned to walk back toward the table he worked at with guardian closely behind. Basch nodded silently at his explanation, waiting until Larsa had reseated himself before speaking up in grim reply.

"You know I trust you," the former Dalmascan captain corrected. "But these are still delicate times. I only do what I must to protect you and Archadia for myself and my brother."

Larsa leaned back in his seat and shuffled a few scrolls together, regarding the Judge Magister with a keen eye. He was silent for a brief time but eventually nodded in understanding. Steepling his hands together he leaned forward again and motioned toward the seat in front of him despite knowing his companion would never sit.

"Then tell me what news you bring from the west. How fare the lines?"

Basch moved quietly to the other side of the desk and set his helm down on the edge with a slow sigh. He would have shrugged had it been habit, but instead his lips turned ever slightly downward at the mention of his recently ended assignment.

"For now the Rozzarian empire's fleet keeps its peace with ours," he explained carefully. "But there are still tensions as expected. Truth be told I'm impressed no serious incidents have occured thus far.. But there have been the occassional fires to quell among the soldiers. Peace is a fragile thing to uphold."

"And war is a horrible thing to forget," Larsa added with a sagely nod and a sigh of his own. "Both sides lost so many countrymen.. It would be foolish to assume they could forget such hatreds so easily." The youth looked up again with a genuinely worried expression. "Do you think the peace will hold?"

Basch kept his gaze focused on the eyes of the empty mask looking back at him and stayed silent for several moments of thought. Finally he lifted it to meet Larsa's, forcing a half smile back on the emperor's behalf.

"I think," he murmured. "That in cooperation lies our hope for lasting peace."

That brought a smile to Larsa's face, the former captain's words echoing ones spoken long before. He nodded and drew a slow breath as he rose and collected his papers, keeping an eye on the quieting guardian.

"You are tired," he noted. "And you have had a long journey. I would see the Judge Magister retire for a few days of duty and recover. Zargabaath mentioned he would be glad to spend some time free from his airship and you have earned your rest. We will speak again on this later, I promise you."

The Dalmascan gave a slight bow once again and retrieved his helm, replacing it over his head and into place before watching the young master slide from behind the table. A sudden realization came to him, and as he fell into step next to the youth he cast a glance to him with a downward tip of his head.

"What would the Emperor suggest I do in the meantime? It is not my habit to lay idle for too long."

"A letter was delivered to me while you were away," he replied with an uncharacteristic grin up the elder knight. "I made sure it remained sealed and left it in your quarters. I'm confident you will find something in its contents to keep you occupied for awhile, Gabranth. I have faith in you my friend."

As the double doors opened Larsa stepped past the saluting guardsmen, leaving the Judge Magister to stare blankly at his back for a moment before taking his quiet - and confused - vigil just behind the young Archadian emperor's footsteps back into the hallway.

* * *

For the thousandth time in as many days a quill hovered above parchment, freshly inked.and yet unused. The wielder watched as ink spots beaded and slid in slow motion down the fine tip of the writing instrument until at last they fell to the blank sheet as useless spatter. Like every other time, it was the only sound in the room besides her breathing, and each time the process happened she cringed and bit into her lower lip as if glass was shattering all around her.

It began as an occasional oddity in her daily life until one day, some weeks ago, she noticed her quick had become a habit. A few days ago.. she finally admitted it was growing into something of a cruel obsession. Inevitably, she would close her eyes after a few minutes of watching the dripping ink and mentally berate herself for her weakness, followed afterwards by more self loathing for even _having _a weakness after all she had been through. Like fated clockwork she waited and watched the ink bead once again in the vicious circle that had become her private thoughts and the attempts to write them when her voice had failed her.

As expected when enough droplets had soaked into the unusable parchment she shut her eyes tightly and set the quill back into the inkwell. Careful not to stain her hands what remained of the paper was savagely crumpled into the tightest ball she could manage without her nails digging into her palms. Once done that shameful piece of evidence would, of course, be disposed of simply by focusing on it for long enough; fire magic, though powerful, was not without its everyday uses.

Ashe opened her eyes long enough to watch the last bits of ash breeze out of her fingers and into the air thanks to the warm breeze filtering in through her bedroom curtains. Through pursed lips a shaky breath escaped, tasting strangely of guilt. She hated feeling this way; common and emotional like a schoolgirl who had nothing better to do than daydream and whittle away her days. A woman in her position was irresponsible to allow tiny hopes and dreams to cloud the gravity of the bigger picture and selfish for letting the desires of the one outweigh the needs of the many. To put ones country before oneself was the need - no, the absolute _purpose of existing _- of a queen. She had to remind herself of her duty every single day.

And as she did, Queen Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca closed her eyes and felt the warmth in her blood grow colder and the trembling of her lower lip steady itself. Her control was coming back, slowly but surely. Even the smell of burned paper slowly wafted away.

"I will not falter," she whispered aloud as blue eyes opened to her room, the breeze comforting her senses and reminding her where - and who - she was. The queen found solace in a self embrace, thumbs rubbing into the silk fabric covering her upper arms as if a chill had managed to find her despite the desert winds.

Her gaze was caught not by any sight just beyond her balconied window but instead by two simple trinkets perched on a table next to her bed. There a pair of silver rings gleamed back at her and added to the invisible weight she bore on her shoulders that bound her. Every time her spirit wavered she found herself looking at them.. and all thoughts of herself were chased away by the reality they provided.

Suddenly the room seemed to materialize around her as though the past few minutes had all been a dream. The sounds of the birds chirping in the distance came back into audible range. She perceived the mullings of a bustling city just beyond that window and took note of the time of day by the position of the sun across her floor. The duties of a queen awaited her, and she had put off those duties for far too long now. A knock at her door snapped her back to her full senses, startling her into a quick stand from her seated place.

"Who is it?" Ashe spoke up in as steady a tone as she could.

"Altressa, m'lady," came a petite voice from the other side of the door, belonging to one of her handmaidens. Young and nervous, she knew by the sound of her voice that the newest member of her royal entourage was still growing used to being in the Queen's precense. "Ah...y-you have visitors from the city! A young man and a dancer, they said they know you personally. Your guests from Rozarria will be arriving shortly as well.. Shall I have them wait in the drawing room your majesty?"

Ashelia blinked at the doorway and frowned in curiosity, turning to gingerly pick up her crown. She stared at it for a moment before replying in an even tone through the securely locked door.

"Tell them I cannot see them.."

"...m'lady? How --" Came the timid voice from the other side, uncertain about the message or its meaning. Ashelia closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Tell them Queen Ashelia is indisposed," she explained sullenly. "And that she apologizes. For the inconvenience..."

When she was sure the handmaiden's footsteps had left the vicinity of the door the Queen set her crown down and sat back down, biting her lip before resigning herself to wait until her official business arrived courtesy of Rozarrian airships.

"I will not falter," she whispered once again to herself as she studied the magnificent view of Rabanastre's rooftops from her bedroom window. "..ever again."


	3. Distances

_Author's Note: It's been some time, hasn't it readers? Apologies, I suppose, won't matter.. but I suppose with it being the holidays something spurned me to pick this fic back up and try it again –or rather, continue trying. I hope you all find it worth reading still, as I find that there are pieces yet undiscovered about our good princess – now Queen – and a certain knight. But there are more pieces to this game then just them, right? Without further ado and hopefully no FURTHER delay, here.. part three. R&R welcomed._

* * *

" –can't _see us??.._what's that supposed to mean..!?"

In mere seconds an angelic face of calm and happiness twisted into a mask of confusion and hurt, accentuated by a turn of pouty lips straight toward the cold marble floors. Her pulse raced and her cheeks flushed. Her shoulders tensed and bucked upward to her ears. Pale skin turned a threatening red in the edges and what was once clear, beaming eyes grew dark with anger.

Penelo's brow streaked dangerously upward as her fingers clenched into the only nearby source of punishment: a young man's arm who was quick to grimace and wince in discomfort.

" – we told her we were coming," the dancer offered back to the quiet handmaiden who had been the one to deliver the queen's saddening news. "So that doesn't make any sense.."

With a sigh the young man Penelo had tugged at finally jerked her backward away from the other young woman who by now had grown flustered with embarassment under the blonde's verbal assault. Penelo noted the tug and turned to him, her face turning from one of hurt to something more like sadness, begging for an explanation of some sort. The young man sighed and shook his head with a light chuckle to the attendant to try and break the uncomfortable moment.

Vaan had never been verygood with awkward situations and struggled to keep his hand from covering his face in embarassment.

"C-can we uh, just have a minute? It was Altressa, right?– thanks. Just give us a second!"

While the handmaiden walked away with a sigh Vaan winced as Penelo jabbed him in the ribcage. The dark skinned young man huffed and took the dancer's hand with a tug, moving them away from earshot to a nearby window. Once they were in relative privacy they spent several moments staring each other down until Vaan finally sighed and shrugged with a lean to the wall.

"Well what do you want me to say to you? What _exactly _are you trying to do, huh? So Queen Ashe is busy, that shouldn't surprise you at all, Penelo."

The young woman grumbled and threw her hands up in frustration, eyes growing wide with emotion. Clearly she wasn't satisfied with such a trivial answer, even from the new royalty.

"Vaan," she countered worriedly. "It isn't just that she's busy – I mean she's seemed so sad lately!" Penelo's mood shifted and her worried look turned into sudden frustration. "I'm not _stupid, _you know. I know she's the queen now.. I know she's busy! It's something else, I know it. And a good friend _always _looks out for another. It shouldn't matter that she's Queen now ..she's still Ashe, you know."

The young man sighed and regarded his childhood friend – now so much more – placing his hands on her bare soldiers with a nod of his head outside the window. Penelo stared sadly back at him before following his gaze, past the grande view of the promenade where the palace offered a majestic view of Dalmasca's crown jewel city.

"C'mon," Vaan murmured. "..just take a look at that! I mean _really _look at it…"

And so she did. The streets were alive again, full of trade and teeming with more people than ever before. Commoners no longer gazed up at the palace with ill thoughts but rather basked in its precense, laughing and carrying on with their lives. The precense of guards and soldiers was minimal at best; Ashe had been careful to make sure Rabanastre never again felt like a prison to its own people. Fountains ran bright with water while children played in them without a care in the world. Men and women mingled to discuss everything from business to the weather and politico from every corner of the world came to see the sights. Commerce bustled wether it be a pauper selling fruit or a noble selling treasures.

It was the world they had fought for so long and sacrificed so much for. They had their home back; even now the freedom they had won and life they had helped restore tasted new and sweet.

"You know.. when you have that much to protect," Vaan offered quietly, feeling the sadness creeping into his own voice. "..sometimes you don't have much time left for friends. Even the best ones."

Penelo chewed her bottom lip and continued to stare out into the streets for a few more moments before fixing her eyes back on Vaan. He matched her gaze with his own, out of answers to give her save that one, and offered the best smile he could muster.

"Maybe it's not that _simple, _Vaan.."

Unfortunately it must not have been enough. Penelo shook her head and wrapped her hands into his – slowly, and held them – before unlacing her fingers and pushing his hands away.

"Hey, wait! Penelo, I didn't –"

Vaan started to speak up but was nudged aside, left to stare at her retreating form as she paced down the hallway away from him.

All he could do was frown and glance back out of the window, folding his arms behind his head with a defeated sigh.

* * *

_In Archades…_

Basch slowly pulled his hand free of the inner glove of his armor, flexing his fingers with a relieved breath. He studied its battle worn skin, noting that some of the scars were finally beginning to dissapear with time – at least on the surface. These hands had shed to much blood to ever forget the past and he would never dare lest he forget the oaths he had made. There were promises to be kept and debts not yet paid; that solemn fact kept his purpose in the front of his mind at all times.

Still, on quieter nights, his thoughts did sometimes stray on their own..

The former general placed the glove atop the growing pile of leathers and light armor in the center of his bed, an unremarkable piece of furniture in the center of a room that was for the most part equally unremarkable in its trappings. In the time he had spent in the Empire as Larsa's guardian he had resisted most offers of House Solidor's "gratitude" and instead found simple decorations to keep him at ease. His home was gone long ago of course but Dalmasca had always called him home during times of peace and war. As a soldier he found himself keeping the occasional fine weapon or suit of armor as trappings. Magnificent rapiers, longblades and helms from the many corners of the world were stored upon racks and shelving such that the two longest walls of his quarters resembled a small armory. The lamplight drew strange shadows and reflections across this collection but it bothered Basch little; even now he turned to the other half of his room, walls curving together into a tapered corner in which a grand desk of fine oak rested stalwart. The former general sighed as he sank into the leather chair in front of it, letting it swallow his weight as he closed his eyes and steepled his fingers together. Several minutes slipped away before Basch opened his eyes again, and when he did his gaze found itself upon Gabranth – or rather the heaviest armor he wore – fitted over a leather mannequin to the left of his desk. This was where the bulk of the armor always came to rest.. ever watchful, ever a reminder. He supposed it might disturb some that the armor Noah wore might be displayed in such a fashion but in truth Basch felt it almost comforting; the spirit of his twin wrought into metal form and a sentinel to the desk, the one place he ever dared show his feelings.

"How I wish you were here, brother," Basch whispered to the metal form staring down at him. "How I wish you could see what your sacrifice has brought: a fine leader and a fine young man to save this empire. Another chance - for both of us - to make right the wrongs we _both _committed. Perhaps that was why fate granted us that second chance, even if it meant staring the other down from the other side."

Basch drew a deep breath and forced his gaze to the desk and the blank parchment and pens atop it. He kept the items mostly for decoration rather than functionality; except for the occassional writ or missive that came from Judge Magister Gabranth's hand he wrote to noone and never received letters. Yet on the desk however there was something he had not noticed before, and in a flash of recollection it came to him.

_A letter was delivered to me while you were away.._

_I made sure it remained sealed and left it in your quarters._

_I'm confident you will find something in its contents to keep you occupied for awhile, Gabranth. _

_I have faith in you my friend.._

Fingers gingerly worked the folded missive over and true to Larsa's word the seal remained undisturbed. Dressed in a handsome gossamer colored paper and bearing a royal seal it could have only come from once place, but even so Basch found it difficult not to stare at the name _GABRANTH _written delicately on the other side. There was no cause for confusion in the letter's origin but still his brow furrowed upon recognizing the unmistakable writing that belonged to the missive's creator.

"Lady Ashe?" The former general whispered in question, mentally cursing himself for the sheer absurdity. There was no question who the letter was from.

Basch released a breath he didn't know he had been holding. His thumb worked across the seal, breaking the simple wax in one smooth motion and letting the letter's bottom half unfold freely. The rich writing continued for nearly fourteen lines but what caught his attention was the first word – a simple thing: _Basch._

He licked his lips, suddenly dry, and fought an unfamiliar sense of uncertainy as his heart seemed to grow heavy. The feeling only swelled as the letter was tipped finally to catch the lamplight to be better read.

And then – ever so slowly – he put the letter back down.

Basch sank back into the chair and sighed, hand slipped over his face with a rub to the fine stubble along his jawline. His eyes narrowed nearly to closed as they tiredly stared at the page set before him, somehow unable to read it and yet not knowing why. With the unliving eyes of Judge Magister Gabranth staring down ever watchful, Basch remained sank into the chair for minutes, and then eventually hours.

In time sleep took him by force and he fell to slumber much the way he had been sitting, in the chair – alone – with the letter as yet unread.

* * *

_Obviously, to be continued… was it worth it? Shall I keep going? Only your feedback will tell me so. Thank you for reading and if you're still interested, look forward to the next. – Vic Viper_


	4. A Shadow Chased By Morning

_Author's Note: Thank you Baschashe for your kind words and review! I hope to see more as well, and its inspired me to continue with the next chapter. The usual copyright items apply ; by the way, for those other Tactics fans out there I think you'll find this chapter a pleasant surprise.. and so we continue._

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* * *

  
_

Not the warmth of the fire nearby nor the smell of savory food seemed to tug the attention of the young woman from the skies above, where her eyes peered here and there in a vain attempt to find something that simply might not be there. Nightfall had come slowly and given way to a magnificent view of the stars as could only be found in the mountains of Ivalice but the sight was of little comfort; a growing tension filled her mind. A gentle breeze blew her flaxen hair in all directions and threatened to mask her view but a quick swipe of her palm freed her gaze once again. The breeze gusted suddenly and urged her to pull the blanket she wore higher over her bare shoulders but she hardly felt the chill despite wearing nothing beneath. The fire too seemed to be disturbed by the wind, but any warning it tried to whisper to her was smothered as the sound of logs dropping broke the otherwise quiet night. The young woman frowned and let out a long breath, finally peering over her shoulder to find the flames roaring once again thanks to the help of her briefly forgotten company.

"There we are! A campfire befitting a lady," the man chirped proudly with a rub of his hands together. He blew into his joined palms with a glance upward and their eyes met fully. So cavalier was his grin back at her that for a moment she pushed her thoughts aside and turned to kneel before the fire and stare into it. Still the feeling bore at her – the more she pondered on it the more the furrow of her browline deepened.

"You're quiet tonight," the handsome man added quietly. "Maybe you're finally growing tired of me, my love."

His hands worked through his ash-blonde hair to smooth it ever backwards as he regarded her fully now. She was striking and unabashed, still wearing nothing but the thick blanket she had comondeered for herself. He loved how her hair fell in long waves over her shoulders and down between scintillating curves, but he found her face the focus of his study for he knew this form in its entirety all so very well. She found him to be captivating in return, as any lover would, and so despite her mood she lifted her gaze to his and offered a slow smile and shake of her head. They sat there in silence staring at each other for long moments until finally she spoke up with a cant of her head to the sky.

"There is something in the air I don't like," the beauty muttered coldly. "The winds smell strange. It has for two days now and I have never caught this sort of taint before."

The man considered her words briefly, puzzlement crossing his features before he drew a deep breath and coughed softly. "The boar meat _is_ a bit overcooked. I could trap a fresh kill if you'd like."

The statement earned its intended effect, a soft laugh escaping her lips which instantly lit his features with a smile. To her comedian she offered a lean forward, the blankets shifting dangerously as she brought her face to his.

"We have stood the test of the ages," she whispered sultrily to him. "And proven ourselves worthy to the gods of having this bond we share, you and I. You know that so long as we share this love it will never decay and never be broken willingly."

"Not even," he retorted softly. "..if my cooking isn't nearly as incredible as yours?"

The young woman grinned and chewed lightly upon his lower lip before shrinking back on her side of the fire. "It could use some improvement, beloved. I would not lie to you."

"Well then I shall work to make it right," he chided in return as he laughed and stood, smoothing over his shirt and dusting off his trousers.

He turned and stepped atop some rocks to give himself a commanding view over their shared tent, one of many that dotted the area nearby. They were merely one pair in a large travelling caravan and the young woman had noticed that nearly two dozen bonfires like their own stretched far into the distance. They had been fortunate to be allowed to join the travellers as they journeyed into the mountains for the hunting had not been very generous as of late. The smell of dinners and the sounds of stories and music rang in the distance, as they had chosen to camp at the very edge of the caravan for the sake of privacy.. still there was one campfire within easy distance and it was the shadowed figures at this spot that the young man shouted to. He waved his arms in the air and they did in return.

"K-Kadmus…",she suddenly uttered despite his attention being elsewhere. Her eyes widened and then slammed shut as a wave of nausea hit her. The sound of a thousand windows shattering all at once filled her ears and the smell that only barely registered before felt as though it was scorching her lungs.

She did not listen to the question he shouted over at them but she could tell it was to her companion's liking since he dropped from his perch and beamed her a smile.

"Good news! They're willing to –"

The statement cut short as his face turned from elation to terrified concern and his hands dropped quickly onto her bare shoulders. In the few seconds that his back had been turned the beauty had slapped her hands over her ears and grit her teeth, the wave of sound and smell sending her knees buckling under her. Her grey eyes shone with tears as they opened to his frantic face and she realized then that whatever has happening was affecting only her.

" – _to me_, Reis!! What's wrong--?!"

"—make it stop!"

The young man grasped her shoulders tightly but found he could barely support her now. The woman toppled over to her side and he whirled around to do the only thing he could think of – find help. He nearly leapt over the campfire and fell over himself, fingers digging into the wall of provisions that seperated him from the next camp. He sucked in a breath to scream at the kindly neighbors but the words never came out. In an instant there was a flash of light and an explosion that tore the entire world in front fo him to pieces. The camp thirty feet away was evaporated in an instant and a torrent of smoke, dust and fire knocked him cleanly into the air.

He couldn't scream or see.. cinders and ash threatened to choke the life out of him and he felt his body fly for what seemed like an eternity. When the world stopped spinning it was because his form had slammed into the unforgiving earth with a horrible shudder that made him feeling as if he'd been bent in half. An attempt to gasp for air felt raspy and unnatural with the taste of spittle and blood in his mouth. His body could not take the trauma, and so his eyes opened only to see blurry darkness, ash and fire drifting through the air. He swore he made out the prone form of his beloved impossibly far away, head down and hair pooled frighteningly over her face; the very thought of her possible death made him turn over in desperation and try to call out her name.. but nothing came forward.

His bloodied hand stretched out toward her but dropped like stone as unconciousness swallowed him while the thunder continued in the distance..

* * *

Basch shuddered out of his sleep with a violent start, hands gripped tight into the armrests of the same chair he had remembered being in – only now sunlight poured into the room from the open windows on the wall facing the cityscape of Archades. The sounds of ferries and airships roaring by made him groan irritably and sit upright and shut his eyes in refusal of daytime. He rubbed his worn hands into his face and left them there as his body slowly but reliably began to wake on its own though he refused to budge willingly. Forever went by while he sat there but as with all good things this peace came to an abrupt end thanks to a heavy knock upon his door. Hoping it would go away he remained silent. After another minute the knocking came again, more pressing this time, and he grumbled and muttered through the parts of his fingers.

"Who is it," he rasped aloud sounding none too pleased.

"_Zargabaath_," came the stern reply from the other side, tinged heavily with the sound of voice behind metal. Basch ground his teeth together and pushed himself to a stand with a quick check to be sure he himself was decent enough to be seen. Marching slowly to the doorway he took hold of the latches and undid them, finally opening the doorway to come face to face with – and nearly running into – the façade of a horned helm. He blinked and struggled to find the eyes behind the darkness of the mask belonging to the elder Judge Magister. Basch intended to say something welcome but his mind would not have it.

"What time is it," the Dalmascan muttered.

"Nearly half-day," the other judge replied gruffly. "I heard you had returned only to be given some time of reprieve. I am here to relieve you of duties for the time being."

Basch huffed and narrowed his eyes slightly at the wrought iron mask with a shrug.

"You make it sound as though I am inept, Zargabaath. Can this wait a little longer? I will speak with Lord Larsa first and see -- "

"Larsa will do without you for once," the other clipped quickly. "He ordered you to take leave and sent me to be sure you had. Now I see _why_."

Basch's eyes narrowed dangerously at that, fists clenching tightly.

"I will stand at our emperor's side whenever he needs me, Zargabaath. I swore an oath—"

"Spare me," the other Judge Magister shifted slightly and brushed past Basch in even steps, directly into his room without a moment of hesitation. Basch – or rather Gabranth – began to protest sharply but stopped as the elder judge turned with a sweep of his cape and an accusatory point toward the other.

"Do you remember _why _I was chosen to command the Empire's finest vessel and see her sent to the corners of the world, Gabranth?"

"No," Basch admitted dryly, reworking the sleeves on his shirt and closing the door the other judge had left open. ".. but I'm sure you will remind me."

"Because," Zargabaath obliged. "—the emperor knew that each of us had our charge and our role. I was all too happy to leave our fellow judges – rest their souls – happy here in their cages if they so wished it, free to bark and quarrel with politics like dogs. My place was in battle, and when I was not in battle I was content to be a protector to this Empire I had helped build with my sweat and blood."

Gabranth snorted a bit and continued to dress, eyes fixated on the cityscape outside as he did so. "I am not sure I see your point in all this, Zargabaath. Are you trying to tell me you think me a politician now?"

The elder Judge Magister scoffed, the sound echoing dully in his helm.

"You think me so naïve? Like me the smell and scent of war is etched into your very soul. Though I command the _Alexander _I am not without my prowess or my better judgement. House Solidor burned itself to the ground until only the very last shred of goodness remained. The fire was a purging one – and perhaps even necessary one at that. No, Gabranth.. I know you were delivered to us for a _reason_. You were meant to protect Lord Larsa and see to it the blood of his family or other forces did not destroy him. I was meant to be his hand outside these palace walls and deliver judgement and protection both."

Basch puffed out his chest and frowned, turning now to the other man with a face of stone.

"And with this reminder you intend to do what? It seems to me you wish to hear the words simply to justify yourself – is there a reason for this speech Zargabaath, or did the morning find you full of self loathing for the crimes we have committed in the name of the future?"

Several moments of silence thickened the air between the two men until at last zargabaath shook his armored head. His voice dropped nearly too quiet to hear, arms crossing at his chest as his gaze took the the skyline that Gabranth had been watching a moment ago.

"There are only two of us now. When my time has come to an end I would see it with no regrets. As soldiers were are not given the opportunities to question our better judgements; we merely serve. We carry the command and we follow it. However I am not blind to second chances. We will pass into the next world someday Grabranth, wether it be by time or by another's hand. You will not be able to watch over our young emperor for the rest of his days, just as I will someday hand over the reins to my beautiful _Alexander. _You and I must be prepared to let go one day, my fellow judge.. rather than cling to the impossible."

Gabranth – Basch – seemed stricken to silence, smoldering but slowly realizing that Zargabaath's words were not merely for quarrel's sake. There was a wisdom there that he never seemed to show to others, and so without a retort the elder Judge Magister began to waver back toward the door.

"Larsa will not be a boy forever and no amount of protection will change the fact that someday he will face the world without you. If you cling to him hoping to find a surrogate son or brother of some kind that you never had the chance to have, tell me now – I would rather pry you from him by force than see you mold him into what you _believe _he should be. You see how well his brother Vayne benefitted from such treatment. You would serve noone but _yourself _in doing so."

The harsh message Zargabaath delivered rang true to Basch and pushed a pang of regret to the surface. Still quiet, the younger man drew a breath and released it slowly before lifting his hard eyes onto the other judge.

"Your.. words .. will not be wasted on deaf ears," he responded quietly. "..I do see the logic and meaning in what you have told me. What would you have me do, then?"

The great horned helm turned to place its sightless eyes on him, tipped as if considering something inwardly. It turned then towards his desk and finally back to him before Zargabaath grasped the door handle and opened it to leave.

"I was the one who delivered this missive from Dalmasca to your quarters," explained the Judge Magister. "..but I care little for the frivolities of diplomacy just for the sake of diplomacy. I have heard that tonight emissaries from Rozzarria will arrive in Dalmasca for some sort of fete, probably to ramble drunkenly about the wonders of peace on our borders."

"Hardly reason to send an entire envoy, is it?"

"Quite so. However, his majesty had suggested I take the _Alexander _and make a good showing by attending with the pride of our fleet. Why not save us both some trouble and respond to your letter in person and spare me the watery wines of Dalmasca at the same time."

At that Gabranth suddenly found himself staring at Zargabaath with a risen brow.

"You want me to perform in your place, is that it?"

Zargabaath surprisingly chuckled within the metal facade he wore, gathering his cape and opening the door wide for an exit as eyes bore into his back.

"When you do return," he added grimly. "..do try to be sure you've wiped your boots first. I don't want any sand on the Captain's chair."

With that final prod Zargabaath dissapeared from the doorway, leaving Basch to – once again – start feeling the strange heaviness from before pressing back into his mind and against his lungs. Gathering a few last items and slipping into his boots he walked to the windows and peered long and hard into the high sun, sparing only a fleeting look back at the desk where the letter sat still unread.

_Later, _he thought to himself. _There will be time later._

Eyes were cast back to the city and remained there while his mind busied itself imagining what it would be like to step off the imperial flagship to breath the warm desert air of a place he knew he had grown to miss but could never admit:

_Home._

* * *


End file.
